Heart of Iron

Twelve

It had taken him all of ten minutes to ingratiate himself with the Norwegians.

Lena bit into a lemon tart, smiling at the young lord in front of her as she surreptitiously glanced over his shoulder. Will clasped hands with the grizzled Fenrir and greeted his son, Eric.

Movement shifted. A hand, sliding over the small of his back. Lena nearly choked on her tart. Her eyes narrowed. That Norwegian witch. She’d known him barely a quarter of an hour and she was already trying to stake a claim.

Stammering a vague reply to something Lord Folsom asked her, she maneuvered herself for a better look. The blond goddess smiled up at him, her hand possessively stroking the smooth tailoring of his coat. Will looked down at her with an amused expression crinkling his eyes.

And Lena’s heart twisted in her chest.

“Are you all right, my dear?” Lord Folsom asked. He was only human, his family not deemed important enough to receive the gift of the blood rites.

“Quite fine,” she managed to say, passing him her plate. “Just a slight hint of nausea. I believe I might need to escape the crush.”

She should have been working against Will instead, but she found she didn’t have the heart for it. She needed to clear her head. Gather herself. Before she did something foolish like ask Eric to dance the assah with her.

She knew precisely how Will would take that.

Pushing through the crowd, she found herself at the edge of the ballroom. The room was located on the second highest floor of the Ivory Tower, with breathtaking views over the entirety of London. A colonnade circled the outside, a chance for a young lady to stroll within watchful distance of the ballroom.

She pushed through the French doors, the wind whipping her hair out of her face as she leaned against the rail. Hundreds of feet below, the grass beckoned. More than one blue blood had been thrown to his death here. But never when a ball was in progress. Such things weren’t done.

Tugging her gloves off, she risked another glance back into the ballroom. With the ballroom lit up so well, everything within was fully visible whilst she would remain hidden in the shadows. She found Will easily enough. His nerves appeared to have settled, for he shared a rare smile with the Norwegian clans as they wooed him.

His own people.

Dress him in furs and let him stop shaving for a day or so and he might have been mistaken for one of them.

Turning around, she balled her gloves in her fist and leaned on the rail. Foolishness. You knew he was never for you. Yet the last week had lulled her into a sense of false hope. A smile here, the brush of his body against hers, their teasing…

If he knew what she was about, he’d never speak to her again.

Lost in her own misery, she barely heard the door open. The wind chilled her skin, but the hairs that rose on the back of her neck had nothing to do with the breeze.

Spinning around, she froze against the rail. Colchester smiled at her, easing the door shut with a soft click. Behind him dancers swept past, their images distorted by the windows. So close and yet so far away.

Lena took a step to the side and Colchester echoed her. A chill ran down her spine.

Tipping her chin up, she tugged her gloves back on. If anyone caught them, there was no need to promote rumors that she’d encouraged him. A bare wrist was tantamount to exposing her breast.

Colchester watched the silk slither over her arms. “That’s not going to help, you realize?”

“I’m only observing the proprieties.”

He strolled closer, using his body to trap her against the rail. Reaching out with both hands, he caged each side of her waist.

She risked a look toward the ballroom. A man’s broad back blocked the doors she’d come through. Cavendish, by the look of it. Preventing anyone from exiting. “I told you I haven’t decided,” she said, her breath catching as he leaned closer.

His gaze ran smokily down her throat. “Perhaps the offer’s been rescinded anyway. Why would I want soiled goods?”

Fingertips brushed against the curve of her clavicle. She pressed against the rail, but there was nowhere to go. Only empty air and wind behind her. “Soiled goods?”

“Another blue blood I could have forgiven you for. But not one of those filthy beasts.” His hand closed over her throat lightly.

Lena couldn’t breathe. She looked in those insane eyes and knew he’d do it. “Don’t. Not here. People are watching.”

His fingers tightened. “Do you think I give a damn?” A bark of laughter. “I’m a duke, Helena. And you…you are nothing.”

She grabbed his wrist, trying to ease his choking hold. Her head was swimming. “P-please…”

His grip eased. “I’m sorry? Are you begging for your pathetic little life? You’re not doing a very good job, my dear.”

Think, damn it.

“You’re mistaken. Whatever you think has been happening, you’re wrong. Leo asked me to teach Will to move through the Echelon. This is…strictly business, nothing else.”

A considering look entered his eyes. He stroked her throat. “Business? After that dance? The beast seems awfully possessive of you, my dear.”

She forced a smile. “A crude habit I’m trying to break him of. Really…” She gave a brittle laugh. “Accusing me of such a thing. You know I prefer the finer things in life. Something…sophisticated.”

“Mmm.” His eyes narrowed. “I’m not entirely certain you’ve convinced me.”

With a sharp move, he grabbed her and spun her toward the rail, pressing her hard against it. Her slippers teetered against the ground, and she clutched at the rail with a scream. The cobbles below seemed miles away.

“Twenty-four people have gone over this rail,” he whispered in her ear. “With you sipping champagne all night, it would be terribly easy to convince everyone you’d slipped.”

Grabbing her by the bustle, he shoved her inexorably forward. He’d let go of the back of her head for the moment and with an instinct she didn’t know she possessed, she slammed her head back.

A deafening crack sounded in her ear and Colchester screamed. The pressure at her back was gone and she tumbled against the rail. So close. Too close… Colchester cupped his face, blood pouring between his fingers. He caught a glimpse of her and murder gleamed in his eyes.

Lena darted for the door. A slashing pain caught her across the upper arm and blood spattered across the glass. He’d drawn his blade, the little one he used for bloodletting. Avoiding his grasping hand, she yanked the door open and shoved into the room.

Cavendish staggered out of her way, surprise widening his eyes. Heads turned and Lena pasted a smile on her lips, her teeth clenched together. The room swam in her panic, gems and faces and dresses leeching into one another. Clapping a hand to her arm, she pushed through the whispering crowd.

He wouldn’t dare attack her here. Not with a broken nose. No blue blood would live down the indignity of being outmaneuvered by a simple human girl.

The heartbeat that threatened to choke her began to slow. All she had to do was find Leo or Will. Safe. She was safe now.

But she didn’t feel it. Blood dripped between her gloved fingers as she made her way through the crowd of blue bloods. They eyed her with far too much interest for her comfort. The music grated harshly on her nerves.

A gap opened up and suddenly she was staring at Will. His gaze flickered over her, then narrowed on her bleeding arm. The room might as well have gone quiet. No change to his expression, nothing to indicate his mood, but suddenly she realized just how dangerous he was.

Bright copper glowed in his eyes. The woman at his side asked him a question, gently stroking his sleeve. He pushed away from the table he’d been leaning against, ignoring her completely. Lena couldn’t make her feet move. All she could do was stare at him and silently will him not to make a scene.

Behind her she heard Cavendish’s voice, growing nearer as he looked for her. Will heard it too, his head shooting in that direction with a murderous gleam in his eyes.

“Don’t,” she whispered.

But it was too late. He turned toward Cavendish, his fists tightening. Striding carelessly into the path of a pair of dancers, he stopped the entire waltz.

If she didn’t do something he’d kill Cavendish. Then they’d have no choice but to execute him. Suddenly she could move again. Cutting him off halfway, she grabbed his sleeve.

“Stop,” she hissed. “Don’t you dare!”

No man looked out at her through those burning coppery eyes. She’d been so certain he’d never, ever hurt her, yet for a moment even she froze at the fury that looked back at her. The wild within.

“Will.” There was only one way to stop him in this mood, only one thing that could distract him. “Will, I’m bleeding. I need to go home, to have my arm seen to. I don’t feel very well.” She made her knees soften, her weight leaning into him.

He caught her, as she knew he would. Blade had once said that Will was the most dangerous man he’d ever met, but his protective instincts overrode his violent ones. A wolf to the core.

As he swept her up in his arms, Lena buried her face against his shoulder. This was it. The end of any chance she had with the Echelon. She might be able to walk its verge, but she would never be a part of it again. Whispers followed them as Will strode from the room.

One last glance over his shoulder as they passed through the doors. The gowns, the jewels, the fancy ladies in all their finery. Gone. Her chance at this was gone the instant she curled into his arms. And strangely enough a weight lifted from her shoulders.

Lena turned her face into his neck, breathing in the masculine scent of his skin. She didn’t know what she would do. There was nothing for her in the rookery, nothing for her in the Echelon. Her fingers curled against his collar. Only one thing that she had always wanted and he had not wanted her back.

But did you fight hard enough?

She buried her face in his coat, too afraid to look at the answer to that question. She hadn’t fought, hadn’t told him how she felt. Too afraid to have her heart dashed to pieces, and so she’d never dared display it.

He would never know how much her games with him were all she would risk.

“Where?” he asked.

She glanced at the enormous circular staircase that spiraled through the heart of the Ivory Tower. A thousand steps, some said, though she’d never bothered to count them.

“The elevation chamber. I want some privacy.”

He glanced at the pair of ladies who’d followed them from the ballroom and sent them fleeing with a glare. “Problem solved.”

“Don’t argue. You can’t carry me the entire way down those stairs. We’re on the ninth floor.”

His face turned to hers, hints of amber burning around his pupil. “What happened?”

She shook her head. She had to get him out of here before he erupted again. “The elevation chamber.”

The liveried footman nodded to them as if he saw ladies being carried out of the ballroom every night. The polished brass doors to the elevation chamber slowly opened, revealing the smooth brass panels of the walls.

Will carried her inside and the doors slid shut.

She gestured for him to put her down. A frown drew his eyebrows together, but he complied.

“What the hell happened?” The chamber lurched into movement and he grabbed at the wall, his eyes wild.

“I went for some air on the balcony.” There was no getting around the truth. “Colchester came out after me.”

Will’s gaze dropped to her bloodied glove. His nostrils flared. “He cut you.”

The words were a promised threat. She had to diffuse the situation. “I broke his nose. It’s an even trade.”

“Lena.”

“It’s barely even a scratch—”

“You were terrified,” he snapped. Turning, he swung a fist at the wall and the brass panel caved beneath his fist.

She flinched. “Please. Don’t.”

Reining himself in with a visible clenching of his will, he slid a hand down the wall. “I wouldn’t hurt you. You know that. I’d never hurt you.”

She realized she was pressed back against the far wall, her nerves strung too tightly to relax with his temper riding the chamber like a cyclone.

“Yes, I was scared,” she said. “But I’m safe now. That’s all that matters.”

“What did he do to you? What did he say?”

He threatened to kill me. She paled and shook her head.

The steady jolt as the steam engines deep in the Ivory Tower’s cellars winched them down became almost hypnotic. Will didn’t find them so. He prowled the small room, his hands clasped behind his back and his eyes bright with anger.

“I hate small spaces,” he said, too much white showing in his eyes.

And she suddenly realized his temper wasn’t only strung so tightly because of Colchester. “Does it—does it remind you of the cage?” She had to clear her throat to get the words out.

His gaze cut to hers and he nodded.

“Here,” she said, slipping her hand into his. “I’m here.”

Nodding at her, he looked away. But his fingers slid through hers, squeezing hard. “The cage weren’t so bad. I could see through the bars.” His expression darkened. As if he saw something else, something beyond the smooth walls of the elevation chamber. “When I disobeyed they used to beat me unconscious. But as I grew older the threat of that didn’t scare me as it used to.” Licking his lips. “There were a cellar. Deep underground. They used to lock me in there. For days. Or weeks. No way o’ knowin’, it were so dark. Not even a rat down there.”

A little boy, lost in the dark. Her heart ached for him. “You’re free now.”

Will’s gaze met hers. “I ain’t free, Lena. Not yet. It’s just, the cage’s bigger now. All o’ Whitechapel to roam.”

“But you’re here now.”

An angry twist of his expression. “’Til the treaty’s signed. I have to make sure the Norwegians sign it, else I’m back in the ’Chapel and the others, those like me, are still in their chains.”

His words took her breath.

“That’s what they promised you?” A disaster. An absolute disaster. “They promised you freedom?”

“Me and every verwulfen in the Empire.”

She leaned back against the wall, hand to her chest. Will was more involved in this than she’d expected. By moving against him, working against him, she was threatening to destroy his chances of freedom.

She couldn’t do it.

But what about Charlie? Her hand dropped to her side. What was she going to do? Heat ached behind her eyes.

“Lena?”

Will waited for a reply. She couldn’t think quickly enough. “The jarl’s daughter seemed to take a liking to you,” she said automatically, as if her heart didn’t feel the blow. “If you charmed her—” She couldn’t say anymore. The words shriveled in her mouth.

“I don’t know nothin’ ’bout charm.”

Lena laughed, a miserable little sound. She had to get out of here. The walls felt like they were closing in on her. “That’s the truth.”

The elevation chamber came to a shuddering halt and she spun around. The bell rang and the doors started to open. Lena stepped through them as soon as they were wide enough to accommodate her.

One more flight of stairs to the ground entrance. She gathered her pink skirts and started dashing down them, but Will leaped in front of her, a frown on his face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She tried to push past, but he blocked her way. Standing two steps below her put his face on a level with hers. “Will, I’m tired. I want to go home. This is not—”

“Your scent changed.” He took a step up, his thighs pressing against her skirts. “As soon as I told you what they’d promised.”

Did guilt have its own scent? She pressed her fingertips against his chest. Whether to hold him at bay or draw him closer, she didn’t know. The superfine of his coat was soft beneath her fingers.

“It changed again,” he admitted, little sparks of molten copper flaring in his irises. “When you mentioned Lady Astrid.” His head lowered, gaze dropping to her mouth. “Just as it’s changed now.”

Lena’s heart started beating faster. Every emotion, every hope, dream, and despair she thought she’d kept hidden from him was betrayed by her scent. She met his eyes and couldn’t read the look in them. Hot amber. Eyes that she could drown in if he let her. The color of them softened, melted, as he leaned closer.

His intentions stole her breath. He meant to kiss her. In the foyer of the Ivory Tower, in front of anyone who walked down the stairs. Exhilaration leaped through every nerve in her body.

“Don’t you dare,” she whispered.

He paused, his mouth an inch from hers. “I never understand you.” His eyes darkened with heat. “Yes or no, Lena?”

Warm breath against her lips. Her hand softened on his chest. She knew the answer before her traitorous mouth could say the words. And so did he.

Will captured the yes on her lips, his hands cupping her face and tilting it up to him. The first taste of him was intoxicating. Lena clutched his lapels and rose on her toes.

The world around them faded. All she could feel was the heat of his hard body, pressed firmly against hers, and the taste of his mouth, of champagne and lemon tarts. Darting her tongue against his, she swallowed his soft moan. As if sensing permission, his own tongue met hers and he devoured her, all hot, male possession.

Will’s hand splayed over her bottom and he wrenched her against him. Every burning inch. She could feel the layers of fabric bunching between them, and the hint of his shaft, pressed hard against her hips. Wanting more, needing more, she slid her hands into his hair, abandoning herself to the taste of his mouth. There was no skill involved, no finesse, none of the careful kisses she’d flirted with in the Echelon. Nothing but hunger and the barely contained raw fury she could sense beneath his skin.

Taking him to bed would never be tame. Never safe. And she wanted it more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life.

“Take me home,” she whispered, before she dared think about it. “Your home.”

Will lifted his head, an iron stillness running through his body. Hot little sparks of copper burned in his gaze and she knew instantly she’d said the wrong thing.

She kissed him again, biting at his bottom lip, but he didn’t rise to meet her. Cupping her face in both hands, Will drew back, breathing hard, his forehead pressed to hers.

“Lena.” A word full of hunger and denied need. “I can’t. We can’t.”

She slid her hands down his chest, hovering over his abdomen. “Yes, we can. Nobody would know.” A shiver ran through her. “I want you, Will. I need you. Need this. It’s not a game to me.” The last few words were a whisper.

He shuddered, eyes closed, fighting something she didn’t understand. “Can’t.” He tore away from her, red heat flushing his cheeks. The look he shot her was dark, dangerous. Hungry. Slowly he shook his head. “Even this should never have happened.”

He might as well have stabbed her in the heart.

“You wanted me,” she whispered.

“What I want and what I should do ain’t the same.” He ran his hands over his head, disheveling the neat queue. Strands of thick honey-gold cascaded around his face, caressing the stark cheekbones.

The denial rocked her. As if in mockery, her pulse raced through her veins, something hot and heavy throbbing between her thighs. Her body had not realized what the rest of her had.

“Why?”

“Because I’m verwulfen, Lena.”

“I don’t care. You know I don’t care—”

Will caught her wrists. “I do.”

Everything she’d ever feared. Heat flushed behind her eyes and she turned her face away. This had turned into one of the most horrendous nights she’d ever had.

“Let go of me,” she said.

Moments ticked by. Then he let her go and stepped away. Finally some space to breathe. Swallowing hard, she forced her tears back and clutched at her ruined gloves. “You may as well return to the ball,” she said. “You have a job to do. I’ll find my way to the carriage.”

“Lena—”

“I’d rather you went back. I want to go home.” Wherever that might be. “To Waverly Place.”

Unable to bear his presence anymore, she pushed past in a flurry of skirts and made her escape.